


Tainted By That Same Energy

by The_Crawling_Chaos



Series: Twin Smiles [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Dream Smp, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, POV Alternating, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Traitor TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Crawling_Chaos/pseuds/The_Crawling_Chaos
Summary: This is it. The Festival Day. The Day of Reckoning for some and the Day of Vindication for others.Tommy and Dream on one side of the bloody conflict, Schlatt and his cabinet on the other, and Wilbur Soot in the midst of it all. Wilbur, who wants nothing but destruction for both factions.If it is destruction he wishes for, then it is destruction he will get.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Twin Smiles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965811
Comments: 15
Kudos: 423





	Tainted By That Same Energy

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i can officially classify this series as canon divergence now that the festival arc has come out! please keep that in mind as you read, this is now technically a “what if” au and doesn’t follow the canon to the tee. anywho, enjoy the third part! there will be more if i can think of anything interesting, and i’m always up for any ideas you all might have!

_“Tommy, do you wanna sell drugs?”_

_The kid in the red and white shirt stayed thoughtfully silent for a moment, and then burst into a radiant smile that lit up the world._

_“Let’s sell drugs Wilbur.”_

The memory burned through his skull like a firework. It wormed its unwelcome way into the forefront of his mind like a parasite. It seemed determined to torment him as much as possible. 

So lost in thought was Tommy that he didn’t notice the fact that his hand was tracing the edges of Dream’s enchanted crossbow. It slid over the bow’s polished surface lovingly and carefully, a stark contrast to the absolute shit storm that was his mind. The weapon was calm and strong, a beautiful instrument of death that would never bend or break under the pressure of battle. 

So unlike Tommy himself. 

He was volatile and loud. Fragile and easily molded into whatever the yielder wished. Shaped by his elders and controlled by his emotions. 

But that was no longer the case. No longer would he be caged or controlled by one person of power or another. No. Now he was the master of his own destiny. Tommy _chose_ to be allied with Dream, the former villain of his story. He _chose_ to betray the crazed man in the dirty trench coat and fingerless gloves. He fucking _chose_ to accept Dream’s armor and crossbow and he’d _never_ regret that. He’d wear the shining netherite with such glorious pride once he was set free. Once he was set free of the doomed- _damned_ -Wilbur Soot that had at one time been so benevolent and kind. 

All Wilbur had to do now was _die_. 

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


_Festival Day._

Tubbo stepped out into the early morning air and sucked in a deep breath. 

He had cleaned up all the mess with Fundy and Eret yesterday afternoon. They had painstakingly combed every blade of grass and every nook and cranny for glass shards and food crumbs to clean up. Now the fruits of their labor were plain to see for all the residents of Manberg. 

A hand clapped Tubbo on the back. It felt clawed and muscly. _Schlatt._

“You did a great job yesterday Tubbo. I am very _proud_ of you.” 

Tubbo squinted his eyes. He resisted the urge to turn his head up towards the horned man and stare at him quizzically. _What the hell is he on about?_

“You know, I was really worried that you weren’t fully dedicated to the new Manberg. I thought...this Tubbo kid is really attached to his little friends and their little declarations. He might not want to follow the new rulers into the next era of innovation and peace. But, after all that’s happened since the election, I can see the truth. You’ve proven yourself to be an _honest_ man, Tubbo. I know I can fully trust you now.” 

Taking that as permission, Tubbo turned his head to look upon Jschlatt. 

The curling horns that so elegantly framed his face were glinting in the beautiful morning light. His glowing yellow eyes didn’t look quite so menacing when they were shining with friendly contentment. 

“Thank you, sir.” Tubbo’s voice was steady for the first time in a long time. “I’m so glad I could prove myself to you.” 

The two stood in the rising sunlight, not as president and right hand man, but as equals sharing a quiet moment before the storm. 

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


Wilbur was positively quaking with crazed excitement. He was vibrating with an energy not seen since the first L’manberg war. 

But that energy was not kind and lovely, like it had been back then. Now it was just bloodthirsty and predatory. 

And try as he might, Tommy was infected by that same energy. Tainted by it. He was not shaking with the urge to destroy Manberg and all that he and Wil had worked for over the months. No. _No,_ he was aching with the painful urge to cut down the man in front of him and claim his place as president. 

But, he held himself back with the willpower of a thousand suns. It wasn’t quite time yet for him to act. The time was not right, but it would be very soon. He just had to wait a little while longer. 

But waiting was so agonizing, especially to the action and goal oriented Tommy. He would have much rather been out there fighting, swinging, and spitting his way to victory rather than this underhanded and patient type of warfare he and Dream had agreed upon. 

Dream fought _so_ differently than him, Tommy mused. He fought like a black panther stalking through the forest, sly and shrewd, shrouded in shadow. He carefully calculated every move and considered the actions of his enemies before they could even formulate a plan of attack. The perfect planner, a brilliant mastermind of the battleground. 

Whilst Tommy, on the other hand, seemed like a _brute_ in comparison. He fought crudely and directly, not caring even an inch for the other side’s possible tactics. He charged forward with his arms laid bare, unconcerned of the consequences. His single combat skills were nothing to scoff at, of course. He had been fighting since he was a toddler-there could be no doubt that he was an excellent combatant and marksman. But, his tactical ability was lacking severely. His movements were easily predictable, as his emotions led him around by the nose and dictated how he would react in certain situations. This predictability was what ultimately led to the Revolution ending the way that it had. 

Dream had recognized Tommy’s patterns, along with the rest of the ragtag bunch of misfits that called themselves L’manberg. 

But now that had all changed. Tommy was no longer as predictable, Wilbur was no longer as sane, and Tubbo no longer so loyal. Everything had twisted itself into misshapen knots. A mockery of what it once was. 

_I will restore it. From the ruination of a tyrant, a great, buried nation will once again rise from the ashes. An infinite empire will regain its lost glory. Never again will the right and true people of this land find themselves hunted in the night for terrors they did not commit. Never again._

And if his and Dream’s new infinite empire made them the new crown princes of terror? 

_So be it._

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


The sun was setting over the colorful party booths and attractions of the Manberg festival. It lit up the revel with cheerful yellow and orange hues that sent chills down Tubbo’s spine. It was just so _pretty._ Beautiful was too pretentious a word for the tacky rainbow decorations, but _pretty_ suited it just fine. 

What a party. He would have to classify it as a resounding _success_ in the archives. 

“Tubbo! Tubbo hey, you have your speech in a few minutes! You should probably get ready!” Karl’s jovial voice came rushing in from behind the young Secretary of State. 

Karl looked to be in good spirits. He was wearing his signature brightly colored, paint splashed hoodie, along with several feather necklaces and ticket strings rapped around his neck. His hair also looked a tad damp, like he had recently been dunked in the dunking booth. 

“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me!” 

Karl smiled widely and slapped him on the shoulder lightly. “Of course, I wouldn't want you missing your big moment!” 

_He sounded so sincere, so innocent._

He had no idea the dread Tubbo was feeling. He knew something terrible would happen. Something horrible that would destroy all that they had worked for, and achieved in the Cold Peace since the Election. 

But, the party had to go on. That was just the way of things. 

He snapped out of his musings with a sharp jerk. His speech. He was supposed to be delivering it now. Nothing to do but get it over with. 

He and the rest of the Manberg executives rallied the attendees into the seating area. The podium loomed ominously above them all, like a black spire of judgement. The sight of it did not calm Tubbo’s building anxiety. 

But, it _did_ do wonders for Schlatt’s confidence. He became radiant and immensely self satisfied looking the moment he sat down on his modified throne-chair. His back straightened and his legs crossed. He was the picture perfect representation of imperial might. 

Tubbo could see no trace of the kindly gentleman that he had witnessed earlier. 

“So, how’s everybody doing today eh?” 

Uproarious applause. Some cries of joy from the crowd rang out. 

“It’s a beautiful afternoon, and I must say that I am proud of how this festival thing turned out. Not half bad. And we have a special guest gracing us on this fine day! Everyone please give a warm welcome to Technoblade!” 

Tubbo’s eyes widened. He had heard that Techno was invited, but he didn’t actually think he’d show up. The pig king was widely known to be borderline antisocial and very skittish around large crowds of people he didn’t know. 

Applause for Technoblade brought Tubbo out of his stupor. It was quite loud and overzealous, he thought. Too loud to be an accident. They probably wanted to flatter the man to avoid his legendary wrath in the future. 

Tubbo shuddered and pitied the poor soul who became the next target of Techno’s bloodthirsty gaze. 

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


Dream did not make his presence known at the festival. In fact, he had gone dark everywhere but Tommy’s comm frequency. He couldn’t afford to be seen anywhere near the festival until the moment was just right, lest their grand plan be ruined. 

But, from his shadowy spot in the bushes, he saw a horrible sight that sparked a fear in his chest. That sight was Technoblade, the half pig half man hybrid that had rivaled him in a personal one on one duel not so long ago. A warrior that had bested the greatest fighters in the Dream SMP land and beyond, someone with no equal in terms of combat ability. 

That would be a problem. 

He keyed Tommy on his communicator. 

“Tommy, Techno is here. Do you see him?” 

A crackle greeted him on the other end. “Yeah, I see him. I didn’t know if he was actually going to come or not. I guess I have my answer.” 

His voice sounded hushed and strained. He probably couldn't talk for long. 

“Keep an eye on him. He could be a real obstacle if everything doesn’t go as planned.” 

“Pft, tell me about it.” 

Oh right. Tommy had fought Techno on _many_ occasions. He knew his patterns better than anybody. 

“Alright well, I’m in position. I’ll be waiting for the signal, and if anything changes, ping me.” 

“Will do. Gotta go, Wilbur is calling me.” 

The comm clicked off. Dream took his ear piece out and took a deep, shaky breath. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first war. He had no right to be nervous, though; everything was on track to work out exactly as calculated. So why was there a foreboding feeling crawling down his back? 

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


“Is there anything else in the speech, Tubbo?” 

His blood ran cold. 

“Uh, no? Let the festival begin?” 

A deadly energy pierced Wilbur’s cloud of stagnation. He was suddenly stirred into swift action that moved his legs up and away from their perch at the white house window. He had never felt more sure of anything in his life. Now was the moment. Now was the _time_ to finally finish what he had started so long ago. He brushed past Tommy’s armored shoulder, and in a moment of weakness, turned to see his right hand man’s face. 

There was not a downtrodden or disappointed frown on his face as expected. There wasn’t even an angry or neutral expression there either. 

Instead, there was knowing satisfaction. A slight grin, a twinkle in the eye. 

_It was so alien. So strange._ It was like a body snatcher had come and replaced him in the time it took Wilbur to blink. 

Someone, _something_ else stood in Tommy’s place. It did not look merciful, or kind. 

“What are you waiting for, Wil? Getting second thoughts? He said the code phrase. So, _what are you waiting for? Blow it all to smithereens.”_

That chilling smile grew a tiny bit wider as Tommy stepped forward. His netherite armor clinked together as he moved, and snapped Wilbur back into the present moment. 

He had to get out. Out and _away._

“Pick off any survivors.” 

That was his only instruction as he ran off the white house roof. He couldn’t be around that thing in the glowing armor anymore. It was too unbearable and terrible to look upon. He had done that, he and his insane ideas. He and his great nation had created a monster. 

The wind rushed in his ears. It made his long and ragged coat float up and around him as he ran. The pounding of his thick boots interrupted the sound of his labored breathing. He was running so fast that the world around him became a blur of indiscernible motion. He was in the hills, and searching for the button that would end it all. 

He rounded a sharp corner, and landed on his hands and knees. The mud got between his fingers as he pushed himself up. He shook his hands out and looked around. This should have been it. The hill had been caved in by human hands and should’ve, by all accounts, been the final room that housed Wilbur’s button. But, instead of seeing the controls to Manberg’s destruction, he saw….

_Nothing._

There was no button. There was no excess TNT, or evidence to suggest there ever had been in the first place. There was simply 

_Nothing._

No. No, this _had_ to be it. Wilbur knew that this empty room _had_ to be it! It _had to be!_ He recognized the hill this lay under! It even had the same view of the outside world as the button room that had stood just days previously. There was no way he was in the wrong place. No way. 

What if….what if he _was_ in the right place? _What if…._

He ran back out of the small cavern and turned toward the looming stage in the distance. It had four figures. One was Schlatt, looking like an animal on the verge of a rapid onset of rabies. Another was Quackity, desperately trying to calm his president down. Yet another was Tubbo, cowering within a claustrophobic cage of yellow concrete and blackstone. 

The final member of this sickening play was Technoblade. He was arming an enchanted crossbow. He was then aiming that same enchanted crossbow, aligning it perfectly to where Tubbo’s heart would be. He said something. Something that Wilbur could not hear. He was too far away. Too far away to hear, and too far away to intervene in the upcoming execution.

Techno looked left, and then right. His fingers twitched a little. If Wilbur didn’t know better, he would've thought that the pig warrior looked _sorry. Sorry, and embarrassed. Pressured even._

But not sorry enough to lower his death dealing weapon. 

A second passed. 

Then, in the next second, something happened. 

Tommy raised his glowing sword in the air and let out a hellish scream. It leaked emotion through every pore and struck Wilbur dumb. It froze Schlatt and the other attendees, as well. They almost didn’t react as he bolted to the center of the festival and shouted. 

“ _Dream, now!”_

From the bushes, an armor clad figure burst forth. It ran faster than humanly possible up to the podium and behind the frothing president. It drew a battle axe and placed it under the tyrant Schlatt’s throat, mere centimeters away from a vital blood vessel. 

One twitch, and there would be a vacancy in the Manberg cabinet. 

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


Tommy felt a hellfire swirl through his veins. It had all happened so fast. Tubbo’s failed speech, Techno’s betrayal, his scream, the _signal,_ Dream’s pitch perfect reaction. He had blinked, and then it was all over. It had all come to this. The climax. 

“Jschlatt.” 

Oh how Tommy _loved_ hearing Dream’s pissed off voice. 

“I hold this axe to your throat with the full intent to kill. If you wish to rouse my mercy from its slumber you will _cease_ this public execution and resign from your post as Emperor of L’manberg, effective _immediately.”_

Tommy savored how utterly flabbergasted Schlatt looked in that moment. 

“And _furthermore,_ you will sign this treaty I have brought with me here today. It states that you will gift the stolen L’manberg lands back to the Dream SMP, and relinquish all rights you currently have to own it.” 

Now _that_ really got Schlatt roaring for a fight. 

_“How fucking dare you! How_ DARE _you! I won this goddamn country in a democratic election! The people wanted me! You can’t just shuffle me away like some common crook!”_

He began spitting in fury, trying to sound as threatening as he possibly could while under the sharpened tip of Dream’s axe. 

But before he could kill himself on the masked man’s weapon, Quackity grabbed onto him. He whispered in his fuzzy ears and pulled him away. Quackity rubbed Schlatt’s shoulders in a futile attempt to calm him down long enough to see reason. 

“He’ll sign the document, Dream. Hand me the treaty.” 

Quackity pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket as Tommy climbed onto the stage. He noticed that Techno had disappeared while Dream had been giving his ultimatum. He’d have to investigate that later. 

“Sign it, please sir. Please, just get it over with so we can leave.” 

The pen was shoved into Schlatt’s clawed hand. It was nearly snapped in half before it found its way onto the treaty’s dotted line. 

With one signature, it was done. 

_“Fuck you Dream, and all your little friends too!”_

Quackity took hold of his former president and began to drag him away towards the woods. Fundy creeped towards them, and made to restrain the angry, bloody-murder screaming goat man. 

_“I’ll be back, you can’t keep me away for long! You tried to ban me last time, and even that didn’t stop me! Fuck you! I’ll be back, you assholes!”_

“Please sir, we gotta go. They’re pointing guns at us.”

In reality, only one person was pointing their weapon at the fleeing imperials. But, it was the one person Quackity was afraid of most in his current situation. 

Tommy. 

He looked down the length of his shining crossbow with death in his eyes and vindication in his smile. He was truly a sight to behold. 

And Quackity didn’t wish to behold him any longer. His eyes might’ve given out with the majesty of it all.

  
  


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  
  


Dream and Tommy stood in what used to be the White House. 

They stood side by side, in imposing sets of netherite armor. One was holding an axe of precision and beauty, while the other was gripping a crossbow gifted with cruel and effective enchantments. 

Besides their chosen instruments of death, they were identical in every way. Their stance, their eyes, their faces. 

The wicked smile they both wore could’ve cut glass. It could’ve cleaved obsidian in two. 

_Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here._


End file.
